John Schettler - Tigers East

“Got through once before, did you? That was then. This is now. Karpov’s all riled up about this, which is why my life isn’t worth a nickel now that you’ve come this way with your plans, whatever they may be. Oh, I’ll get you as close as I can, but it will have to be well outside the range of all those flak guns Karpov moved into Ilanskiy after that last attack Volkov pulled.”

“Flak guns?”

“Of course! He ringed the place with 85mm AA guns—nasty little fellows when pointed at an airship. There isn’t much the Vulcan lining in my gas bags can do about a round that big, and now Karpov has flak batteries set up at every landing site—all the airfields Volkov used in that stupid attack he made recently, and double batteries at Ilanskiy. So if his lordship is really pissed, and I think he is, then he’ll blow this ship out of the sky if I get inside that circle of fire, and the range on those gun sis ten to fifteen klicks. Just to be safe, the closest I can get you is 20 klicks. I can just drop you off and turn my 105’s on you for all the trouble you’ve brought me. Like I say, I’m a dead man after this. Might as well take you with me, and I’d likely be doing you a favor by killing you that way. His lordship would make it hurt if he got his hands on you—and he will, mark my words.”

Flak guns, twenty kilometers on the ground, Symenko above them with all those recoilless rifles the whole time, not to mention the other airships…. Selikov was a good man, but would he buck Karpov as well and disobey the orders he most likely has now to defend Ilanskiy against all comers? Karpov will soon realize that this ship wasn’t going to Irkutsk, and that they were also not enroute to Kirov on the helo. These were things that had never entered Fedorov’s mind in the heat and haste of his decision to proceed against Karpov’s direct order to the contrary. It was all forming up like a phalanx of steel. Symenko was correct, they would never get through to the railway inn, so what in god’s name was he doing here? He should have obeyed Karpov’s order to return to the ship, and then tried to convince Karpov to proceed as they first agreed. He needed Karpov’s compliance to get through to Ilanskiy. It was just that stark and simple.

Three days… That was all the time they had before the 30th of September. Three days, and all time and eternity waiting on what would happen between now and then. Now, with a darkness and feeling of utter frustration that was heavy on him, Fedorov knew his mission was folly. He was going to fail. Symenko’s life was already blood on his hands, and he would likely get Troyak and the others killed if he tried to proceed; he would likely be killed himself.

Zykov had been listening to all of this across the room while he was fiddling with the radio set he carried in a backpack. He wasn’t sure what any of it was about, but he could see that this Captain Symenko was stacking up a fairly convincing argument. What was going on between Fedorov and Karpov? They ought to just get on the secure channel and hash it out. He was going to suggest that, but then something unexpected happened, the radio set lit up with the incoming signal light, a clear amber light on the encrypted line. There came an audible tone, three solid beeps, and the light continued winking, waiting.

“Captain,” he said. “I’ve an incoming signal on the encrypted channel.”

Fedorov turned, his mind still in the anguish of all his inner doubt and guilt. “You mean the command link to Kirov?”

“No sir, it’s the long range channel for HF encrypted communications. Someone’s trying to contact us, but I’d have to know the code to open that channel.” He showed Fedorov the winking amber light, and as he stared at it, the realization of what it was struck Fedorov like a hammer.

My god, he thought. Could it be so? His pulse quickened, for here was a joker on the table, something dealt out by the hand of Fate that he never expected. Could it be so? His mind was a whirl—the code, the goddamned code! What was it? He had devised it himself, so long ago it seemed now. What was it? Something he knew he would never forget…

“Zykov,” he said quickly. “Key in 07-Alpha-03-Zeta-2018.”

Zykov just blinked at him. “The code sir?”

“Quick now,” said Fedorov. “Yes, that is the code, but use the letter o for every instance of zero—the first one upper case, the next two lower case. Quick now!”

Zykov flipped open the key panel and entered the code: O7Ao3Z2o18. It was a cypher that Fedorov was sure to remember, the day he first set foot on battlecruiser Kirov as its newly assigned Navigator, March 7th, in the year 2018. If it were confirmed on the other side, he knew exactly who was calling, and his heart rose with the thought of the voice he might soon hear on that radio.

Thecode was in, the yellow light now a steady amber, waiting for confirmation from the other end of that transmission. Fedorov was literally holding his breath, and then he saw the light go solid green, the handshake made, the voice on the other end beginning to come through.

Miles and miles away, in the Sea of Okhotsk, Lieutenant Isaac Nikolin also got the yellow link light, and on a channel that was never used except for the most serious message transmissions, high level HF signals that would carry orders from Severomorsk, emergency action messages. He was very surprised to see it, the yellow light pulsing on and off, waiting. Normal protocols would see him immediately report the signal to command authority on the bridge, and then they would respond by fetching the link code from a secure safe. Then, as he stared at the light, and at the ID number for that channel, he saw that it was two cyphers off the normal EAM command link channel, a special frequency variation, which struck him, as that was most unusual.

Yet the longer he stared at that number, the more a feeling arose in him like some deep memory rising from the depth of the dark sea of his mind. It was a behemoth, a monster rising with sharp teeth, then in a shaking moment of realization, it broke the surface, careening up into the clear light of his understanding, and came thundering down like a great whale splashing back into the ocean. The code! He suddenly knew what he was supposed to enter. It wasn’t to come from the secure Comm-box, but it was beaten into his head by Fedorov, somewhere, somewhere... long ago….

He could not find the where and when of that memory, only the alphanumeric truth that now glistened in the light of his awareness. He knew the code! His hand shook, and almost seemed to move as if commanded by another mind, another self within him, another Nikolin. He reached for the keyboard, clicked the line for code entry, and entered the cypher, unerringly: O7Ao3Z2o18. His heart was pounding, though he did not know why. He saw the light go to solid amber, waiting, and then the steady green of affirmation. His numbers were good. Seconds later he heard the voice speaking on his headset, and with it came the rush of a thousand memories.

He saw Karpov on the bridge, and Troyak standing before him like a stony Golem, snatching away the missile launch key in a sudden violent motion. Then again came the image of Karpov, this time with a pistol in his hand, Rodenko down on the deck near Doctor Zolkin, who clutched his bleeding arm. The cascade rolled over him, memories, realization, awareness of a life he had lived, experiences careening into his brain in a torrent of recollection. He closed his eyes, putting his hands on each side of his headset as he often did when listening to a difficult signal. It was too much, too fast, too intense.

Sweat dotted his brow as he listened to that voice speaking, and the memories piled in. He saw himself standing next to Admiral Volsky, translating for Admiral Tovey. He remembered all the secret things they were talking about, all the plans and strategies he was supposed to forget the moment he heard them. He saw ships burning, heard the dull drone of old aircraft overhead, saw missiles roaring off the forward deck, and then he remembered hearing that voice, the last time it called, and on this very channel, the channel reserved for this secret com-link.